


Pretty Pout (While You Bottom Out)

by emeraldcitydowntowngirl



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom!Pete, Crossdressing, Dom!Patrick, Established Relationship, Folie à Deux (Fall Out Boy), M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Panties, Porn with some plot, Sub!Pete, Top!Patrick, folie era, not good dirty talk, some rimming but its very minimal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-18 11:42:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9383435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldcitydowntowngirl/pseuds/emeraldcitydowntowngirl
Summary: Pete would be lying if he said that he didn’t understand the logic behind girls throwing their panties and bras on stage.Actually, he doesn’t understand it all that much… but he, like, gets it, and he supposes that’s half the battle.(OR: Pete finds a pair of panties, tries them on, Patrick walks in, you know the deal)





	

Pete would be lying if he said that he didn’t understand the logic behind girls throwing their panties and bras on stage.

Actually, he doesn’t understand it all that much… but he, like, _gets it_ , and he supposes that’s half the battle. He doesn’t want them, there’s nothing he can really do with a pair of panties that are too small for him, there’s no use for a bra when there’s no _boobs_ to come with it. But it’s fun to play along- to pick up the panties by their lacy edges, to stare out into the crowd and smirk and pretend like he’s going to keep them.

Pretend like they’re not going directly in the trash when the night is over, the show’s done, and everyone retires to their bunks.

There’s one night though- everyone was tense, everyone was always tense during those shows, the Folie album hadn’t been receiving the feedback that everyone thought it was going to get, but that night, they were fucking electric on stage. It felt like the old days, when they cared less about what would sell and more about what would sound good… and also if they were going to have to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the 5th time in a row.

 Pete was on his knees, rolling onto his back, thrusting his hips up and screaming into his dead mic, Andy beat his frustrations out, Patrick heaved lyrics, his body lurches forward with every chord change, Joe spun around in circles until he was dizzy and he did it some more.

A pair of panties was thrown onto the stage, right by Pete’s shoulder. He was on the floor, he felt oddly at home there. He looked up at the ceilings and the beams, heard Patrick’s voice echoing, his fingers played at the chorus to ‘Dance Dance’ on autopilot, and he smiled. Some days were bad. But this day was good. He didn’t feel like tearing his hair out of his scalp, he could look over to Patrick and smile and expect a smile back. It’s pretty sad that that’s what constitutes as a good day, but… he digresses. He pulled himself up on his knees, ready to finish up the song, and that was when he spotted them.

Lacy, lacy, lacy navy blue panties. It wasn’t a thong, but it was damn near close. It looked pretty, delicate. It looked like something Pete’d want to pull off of a girl, at the moment he was thinking of Ashlee, blonde hair and gray eyes, and the way that she would moan when Pete’s hand traveled up her thigh, just to press right _there_. He’d whisper what he would love to do to her, she’d kiss him and tell him to stop talking and start working.

He missed Ashlee- she was nice. Pete’s not nice. Apparently.

Pete snatched the garment up before he even realized it, just as the song comes to a close, and he heard the crowd roar. He looked out, he can’t see past the first couple of rows (he felt oddly guilty for that, but he gets stage fright worse than Patrick), but everyone was screaming at him, _for_ him. He felt like a totally new person. He usually did on stage. It’s one thing, being in the public eye, and it was another, being at home with his family and his dogs, but being on stage was a whole other realm.

Right before they transitioned into their next song, Tiffany Blews, he tucked the panties in his jacket pocket, just to listen to them roar for him. They did, and Pete smiled.

And the thing was, he never meant to actually _keep_ them. He just forgot about them when the show was over. He slipped off his jacket and slept in his sweat from the show, and that was that. He didn’t really like the jacket, so he didn’t wear it for another couple of weeks. Things were sent to the dry cleaners, and when they came back, they were sorted and packed into suitcases and their wardrobes, and attached to the jacket was a little baggie in which the navy blue panties were placed.

* * *

Pete’s in his hotel room, rummaging through his baggage and closet for his newsboy cap- his new favorite accessory. Gone is the eyeliner. Hats are his new thing now. But the newsboy cap holds a special eyeliner pencil shaped place in his heart- it reminds him of Ryan Ross and Patrick Stump.

He’s in his boxer briefs, something from Clandestine, and he’s playing some _My Bloody Valentine_ over his little tiny speakers- “Thorn” comes out ratty and rough, and he hums the familiar melody as he throws item after item onto the floor. Gabe’s tee-shirt, Patrick’s cardigan, his purple striped hoodie, lacy blue panties, and-

He does a double take at the items thrown on the floor when he notices the unfamiliar patch of dark blue- Gabe’s tee-shirt, Patrick’s cardigan, his purple striped hoodie, lacy blue panties.

He knows exactly where they’re from. He stares at them like they’re magic, like they’re going to disappear from thin air if he blinks. Because, okay, he kept them, but he didn’t mean to. They’re not supposed to be here, they’re supposed to be in a landfill somewhere in Pennsylvania. But they’re here. And he’s here. And he’s bored, and fingers itch to feel them.

He drops to his knees, and he snatches up the panties. He studies them for a moment, _am I going to fit into these? Does the fan who threw these know that I’m about to try on their underwear? Has anyone’s period blood leaked into this? Wait, why does that sound vaguely hot to me?_

He blinks at them, his music switches over to a song by The Beatles, _Across The Universe,_ and he leans over to bury his head in the bedding on Patrick’s bed. This is so fucked up.

Gone are his boxers. On are the panties. Over the speakers, John Lennon croons _‘Nothing’s gonna change my world’_ , and Pete feels sick. But a good kind of sick. This feels kinda spiritual, but it also just kinda like Pete’s wearing girly underwear and liking it.

He picks himself up off the floor, and he walks over into the bathroom, to where the full length mirror is. He quickly shuts the door, his stomach burning with need, and he _looks._ His newsboy hat sits on top of a hook, and he quickly reaches up, standing on his tippy toes, and he places it over his head.

He looks… weird. But a good weird. Everything is a good _blank_. But this is _good_. This is really good. He’s always thought red was his color, but it’s blue. The lace sits perfect over his hipbones, and the hem is just underneath his tattoo that does nothing but remind him of Hey Chris. The hair above his cock peaks out from it, like flowers from a pot of plants, _why does his pubes remind him of flowers_ , but the panties have enough room in them for his cock to just be… at least for now. His balls just mostly feel weird, but it’s nothing _that_ much different than wearing briefs.

He looks pretty without all of the makeup on. The dark circles under his eyes and the spit slick lips and the way that the hat looks, pressing his hair down over his eyebrows. He looks fucking ridiculous, but ridiculously hot, and he lets out a long exhale.

His first instinct is to jerk off. But then he remembers that Patrick left to go get something to eat and the last thing that Pete wants is for Patrick to come into the room, and Pete’s mid-climax on the bed, wearing fucking panties with his fingers… _occupied_. Not because Patrick’s never seen him like that, they’re dating for fucks-sake (well… dating in the sense that only they know about it), but… it’s embarrassing. He feels stupid. He feels like an idiot. Patrick wouldn’t laugh at him, maybe, but this feels private, his own secret.

…Of course, because Pete has the worst timing in the world, by the time he walks out of the bathroom, ready to toss the panties away and put back on his boxers, Patrick comes strolling into the room, back from lunch with Andy.

There’s a moment where they don’t move. It’s just Patrick, staring at Pete through his huge, clear glasses, and Pete staring at Patrick, his cock half-hard in the panties that Patrick knows aren’t his, and the paperboy hat. Pete swallows, and he fights the urge to get on his knees immediately.

“Um,” Patrick breaks the silence, and he takes a step closer. He’s shorter than Pete, but Pete’s never felt more _small_ in his life. But it’s a good kind of small.

He wants Patrick to be the mad scientist, and he wants to be underneath his microscope. Let Patrick pick and prod at him, let him touch him and grope him, let him do whatever he wants.

“Where—I mean, what is this?” Patrick asks, softly, like he’s afraid Pete’s gonna lash out on him. He’s staring, and Pete wants him to stare harder. He can’t believe he wanted to keep this to himself, the way that Patrick’s staring at him makes his skin crawl in a good way.

Pete gulps. “I, um. A fan… a fan threw it on stage, I just—I didn’t plan it, I just found it, I wanted to try it on, it’s not, I’m not-“

“It’s hot.” Patrick says, with a look on his face like he can’t believe he’s saying it either. “Can I feel?”

“Yeah.” Pete breathes out, he takes a step back into the wall, and Patrick cups his jaw with one hand, moving close to kiss him. It’s soft, beautiful like the lace on his skin, and Pete opens his mouth, lets Patrick in. Patrick’s other hand just rests over Pete’s hipbone, and Pete gasps into the kiss. Words spill from his throat without them meaning to, “Patrick please, Patrick, _Patrick_ , please, fuck me, _fuck me_ , fuck-“

Patrick pulls away from their kiss, and his hand moves from the side of his hipbone, down underneath the lacy hem, and he wraps a dry hand around Pete’s half-hard cock. Pete lets out a strangled noise, a shout, an “Oh, _God_ ,”, and Patrick gives him a grin that’s not a _Patrick_ grin, but a Pete ‘ _I’m planning something **great**_ **’** smile, one that he usually uses on Dirty right before he pulls a prank on him. “Eager, hm?”

Pete’s hands stay planted on the wall- he knows that Patrick likes that. “ _Yes_.” He replies, and he leans his head down to rest on Patrick’s shoulder as Patrick continues to slowly, slowly, slowly stroke.

“And you’re sure you didn’t plan this?” Patrick asks, a smile in his voice, and Pete shakes his head, “No, I just—I mean, they’re pretty, right?” “So pretty. Maybe that’s because they’re on you, though.”

Patrick pulls his hand out of Pete’s panties, Pete almost chases his touch, and he gently pushes Pete in the direction of the bed. “You wanna…” He asks, even though Pete’s already crawling onto the bed. It’s warm, and he feels comfortable. He lies on his back, splays his legs open, raises his legs and digs his toes into the mattress, and he waits for Patrick to situate himself between them.

And he does- Patrick pushes his legs further apart, presses down on them as a little reminder to Pete, _leave these open,_ and he peers at him through his glasses. Pete reaches up, pulls them off his face, and he says, his voice low, “I think you should keep your clothes on. I like that.”

“I think my glasses constitute as clothes now. But sure.” Patrick complies, and he sits on his knees, leans down to splay his hands over Pete’s chest, keeping him down. “Now, you’re going to be quiet.”

“I am?” Pete asks, batting his eyelashes innocently, as innocent as one with his legs open and a little dot of wetness where his fully hard cock rests in a pair of panties could look. Patrick presses down harder, Pete’s mouth falls open, and Patrick leans down further, till his lips are against Pete’s ears, and when he whispers, Pete’s body jerks. “You are. Or else you’re not coming.”

He wants to call Patrick’s bluff, but he doesn’t dare to talk. So, he just lifts his hands, he pretends like he’s zipping up his mouth, locking and throwing away the lock. Patrick just chokes back a laugh, and he says, “If only that really worked”, and when Pete pouts, Patrick kisses the side of Pete’s mouth. “Kidding, kidding…”

There are many days with Patrick where it seems like they’re going to break up, and the band is going to break up, and Pete’s whole life is going to break up. Everything, _everyone’s_ on a tightrope, and nothing feels truly sturdy anymore, but this, right now, this feels steady. He lets himself relax into the bed, keeps quiet as Patrick kisses slowly down his chest, open-mouthed kisses that won’t leave bruises per se, but there are little spots of red every time Patrick lets his teeth sink in a little, just to feel the way that Pete’s hip buck up, the way that a moan gets strangled in his throat.

“Now,” he says, slowly, and Pete’s heart beats, quickly, “I don’t know whether I want to blow you, or if I want to fuck you so rough you’ll feel it all tonight during the show.”

“I-“ Pete says, _I want you to fuck me so hard that I can’t breathe or feel anything that isn’t you,_ but then Patrick shushes him by biting down into his soft skin, relishing in Pete’s broken off moan, one turned into a hiss of pain, and he says, “Let me finish.”

So, Pete lets him finish.

“Good boy,” Patrick croons, and he reaches a hand down to pull the panties down slightly, to let Pete’s cock slip free. He wraps a loose hand around it, and Pete turns to bury his head in the side of the pillow as Patrick continues, “you’re always such a good boy for me. Well… maybe not _always_ …”

Now is _definitely_ not the time for Patrick to be thinking about punishments. Not because Pete doesn’t want one (well, one that he would like. There’s a difference between getting pulled over Patrick’s lap, and not being able to come), but mostly because he’s _going_ to come in about 2 seconds if Patrick does that, and there’s no way he can discipline himself not to. Even under Patrick’s watchful gaze.

Pete whines, his wide eyes silently pleading. Patrick’s still stroking at a slow, slow, slow pace, and he says, “So, I think I’ll let you decide what you want. But you’re going to have to beg for it.”

Pete gives Patrick a quizzical look, and he looks in the direction he threw the ‘key’ in with a mischievous grin. Patrick rolls his eyes, and he says, “Shut up, you can speak.”

“Isn’t that an oxy- _ow, what the fuck_!” Patrick bites down on the skin over his hipbone hard, hard enough for Pete to gasp in pain and to squirm around.

“Are you going to stop being a dick?” Patrick asks, as he pulls off, and Pete nods quickly, “Yes, _yeah_ , please fuck me.”

With a sly grin, Patrick sits back. His eyes trace over Pete’s body, and he says with faux pity in his voice, “Oh, _baby_ , I know you can do better than that. I don’t think I’m convinced.”

“Okay,” Pete says, blinking through the clouds that begin to fog in his brain, and he licks his lips, taking a deep breath as he shifts. Patrick watches on, patiently, rubbing a thumb over his hipbone. “I want… I want you to please, t-to _please_ , please, _please_ fuck me.”

Patrick hums, a non-verbal ‘continue’, and he continues to rub over Pete’s hip, coaxing him, coaxing the words straight from Pete’s lips. There’s no filter, everything in Pete’s head tumbles out of his mouth, “I’ve been so good, right? I’ve been good, and I need you, I _need_ you so bad, Patrick, Patrick _please_.”

“Okay,” Patrick says, nonchalantly, like he couldn’t care-less, but Pete knows from the way that Patrick’s eyes continually trace over his body, his tattoos, the panties, that he wants it too. That, and the fact that Patrick’s quick to pull the panties down further, the way that he gently pushes at Pete’s hip. “Turn over.” He says, and Pete obliges.

His body shifts- he’s not on his hands and knees, but rather he’s just on his stomach. His arms wrap around the pillow that his face is buried in, and his hat digs into the material, but Patrick doesn’t take it off, so Pete doesn’t dare reach up and take it off either.

Patrick’s hands, rough but warm, run over his back, down into the dips of his back dimples, and he gently squeezes Pete’s ass as he begins to ask in a low voice “Did you-“ “Squeaky clean. No point in a hotel room if we don’t fuck.”

He can practically envision Patrick’s eye roll, but he doesn’t even have the time to process Patrick’s comment afterwards, because suddenly Patrick’s tongue presses against him, wet and warm, and _oh fuck._

It’s not much, it’s only for Patrick to tease him, to get him to loosen up a little, maybe he can sense the tension building in Pete’s body, but it works. It _works_. By the time that Patrick pulls away, Pete’s a mess, he’s drooling into the pillow, and he squirms impatiently as he pants, “Please, Patrick, fuck me now, I’m _good_ , you don’t have to-“

Two lubed fingers press in easily anyways, and Pete sobs out, “Oh _God_ , Patrick,”, and he grinds back on them, he can’t pull Patrick in, but he can try, and the effort is enough. Patrick is mostly silent, a hand on Pete’s hip to ground him is the only way that Pete knows that he’s really there, but then he says, in an almost growl, “Remind me again why I should fuck you?”, and yeah, Patrick's definitely there. His dominance comes in waves, it's on and off, but it's _so_ on right now. 

Anyways- Patrick's question is easy to answer. “Because, because, you love me, and I love you, and you- oh, fuck, Patrick, _Patrick_ \- and, uh, _fuck_ , also, we have sound check in an hour.”

Okay, the sound check comment probably did it. But Patrick’s fingers (3 at that point) pull away, and he gently guides Pete back down, so that he’s on his back. Pete immediately spreads his legs, wide, and he grabs Patrick by the shirt collar down so that they’re face to face, pressed directly against each other. He can feel Patrick’s boner against his thigh, he can see the heat behind his eyes. “Now, Patrick, now, I'm fuckin' dying right now.”

Patrick shrugs. “I’m gonna go swish some Listerine in my mouth. You-“ Pete’s hands are above his head, but Patrick unlatches Pete’s right hand from his left. “keep yourself open for me.”

Patrick’s slippery fingers touch Pete’s, and Patrick guides Pete’s hand down, pressing Pete’s fingers in for him. His mouth is shut, but he hums in… in _something_ , pain or pleasure he’s not really sure, but it’s supposed to be “ _Hurry up, please_.”

He fucks himself on his fingers earnestly, doing what Patrick won’t. His fingers curl and press into his prostate, and he moans loudly, his feet dig into the mattress, his head lolls on the pillow, his hips roll up and thrust  in the air, he’s definitely putting on a show for Patrick. And when Patrick comes back, crawls back on the bed, and unzips his pants, Pete makes sure Patrick watches.

“You look like a desperate slut.” Patrick says, conversationally, and Pete bites back, staring directly at Patrick’s newly exposed cock, even when Patrick lifts his chin to get him to look at him. He likes playing with fire, and Patrick's fire. “That's because I am one. Get the fuck in me.”

Patrick’s still clothed, Pete feels denim on his inner thighs as Patrick lines himself up with Pete’s hole, and Patrick glares into his eyes. “What happened to the magic word? I don’t think I want to fuck ungrateful whores.”

Pete doesn’t take the bait- he just laughs, bringing Patrick closer with his right hand until they’re kissing, and when Patrick thrusts in, he mutters against his lips, “Well, I guess you are.”

They kiss sweetly, passionately, but Patrick's grip on his hip is tight, and Patrick's beginning thrusts aren't slow and tender either. It's like he's warming up to do something worse-- but that's exactly what Pete wants, bruising and biting, so he doesn't say a word against it. "Well," He says, barely strained even though he's sweating, "I guess if you're a whore, I'm going to have to fuck you like one."

Pete's flipped onto his stomach before he knows what's happening next, and he hardly has time to grip the sheets before Patrick shoves in hard. Pete cries out, "Patrick!", and Patrick slaps his hand against Pete's ass, and he hisses in Pete's ear, "Shut up. If you're not saying your safeword I don't want to hear a fucking word, sweetheart."

And well- Pete can't do a thing but bury his head in the pillows as Patrick continues to fuck him within an inch of his life. He's aching to come, _aching_ , but Patrick didn't say he could, and right now, as Pete's moans get muffled in the pillows, as Patrick hits his prostate with every sweet thrust, as Patrick's hands squeeze at his shoulder blades, as Patrick whispers filth in his ears, ' _You feel so good, baby, my good little slut_ ', all he wants to be is obedient.

Because the both of them were on edge even before Patrick started fucking him, this ends almost embarrassingly quickly. _Almost_ because it feels too good, because they're so good at it, at knowing what each other like, that there's no way that it could truly be embarrassing. But anyways, Patrick’s thrusts become less meticulously planned out, and more lazy and sleepy, the way that they always get when Patrick’s close. And Pete loves the mean thrusts, _duh_ , but he loves this too. It becomes authentically Patrick. The sighs and the way that Patrick rocks in him like he just wants to hug Pete close. Pete’s the needy one but Patrick finds it hard to sleep if Pete’s limbs aren’t tangled in his.

“You gonna come with me?” Patrick asks, his way of communicating to Pete ‘don’t come before me’ nicely, and Pete nods his head against the pillows, and he says, muffled, “Yeah.”

Patrick sighs, his grip on Pete’s shoulder blade tightens, Pete’s cue, and he says, “Okay. _I love you_ ”, before he thrusts in one more time, before he comes, his head pressed against Pete’s back, his other hand on Pete’s hip. The feeling itself is enough to send Pete over the edge, but it’s mostly the way that Patrick says ‘I love you’ that makes Pete come too, _finally_ , with a soft whine. His entire body shakes with it, and he can't help but whimper when he finishes. 

He lifts his head out of the pillows when Patrick pulls out and tumbles back onto his back on the mattress, and he immediately latches himself on Patrick, on his clothed body, and he kisses him squarely on the mouth, “Patrick, I love you, I love you, I love you.”

And Patrick’s breath is still labored, but he manages to laugh, and he hugs Pete close to him, away from the wet spots on the bed, “Love you too, Pete.”

He reaches up and pulls Pete’s hat off of his head, and he throws it on the ground as they kiss again. The panties are still around Pete’s thighs, but Pete squirms out of them as they continue to kiss, exhausted from the sex, but still passionate enough to make Pete’s skin crawl with anticipation, with love.

They show up to soundcheck late- Patrick with a satisfied grin on his face, and Pete with a limp. And as Pete skips around stage, relishing in the ache, he makes a mental note- stop by _Victoria's Secret_  soon.

**Author's Note:**

> lol. "but in a good way".


End file.
